


Until Then

by verushka70



Category: Da Vinci's Inquest
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/verushka70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd been so young.  Dominic supposed he'd been... malleable.  He wondered if he would have better handled Patty's occupation of his body and soul, if he'd been older and more experienced when they met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Then

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle VIII for [bowserbabe](http://bowserbabe.livejournal.com/%22)'s prompt "Da Vinci's Inquest, Dominic/Patricia, work, hidden, again, affair." Originally comment-posted June 15, 2009 to [oxoniensis](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org)'s PB site.

If you knew her really, really well – as well as Dominic did – you might call Patty “a handful.” It wasn't entirely accurate – at least, not professionally. She had all her ducks in a row, almost every damn day. Her ethics were unimpeachable. Her motives ruthlessly pursued the truth (whether or not it reflected badly on investigations, the force, and/or himself... even herself, sometimes). Dominic supposed, besides her high intelligence, million-bucks smile, and her cast iron stomach, those predictable, principled qualities of hers had attracted him to her. By comparison, he was much more of a handful. At least as far as everyone else knew.

But – intimately – Patty was a handful. More than a handful. Demanding, but not in a bitchy way... in an I-know-what-I-want way that was sexy as hell. He recalled times in the shower, him moving behind her, lips on her neck, her so close, so close. She'd turn her head, almost enough to eye him from beneath her wet lashes in a flirtatious sidelong glance – but she wouldn't. Her gaze would slide away, unfocused, or her eyes would squeeze shut as he hit that spot inside her, over and over, and simultaneously rubbed the other spot with his hand. All it would take at that point would be his teeth on her neck or biting her shoulder, and she would...

You wanted to rise to the occasion for her. She was so spectacular when she came: unbridled, unrestrained. You wanted to get every touch just right until you were Shiva with eight arms and a cock, until she cried out her bliss and joy. It had quickly become part of their sex, early on, that Dominic covered her mouth when she came. She was so loud. It was embarrassing. (And exhilarating.) He didn't want people knowing what they were doing in their first tiny apartment together. (But if they heard, hell, yeah – he'd brought that out of her. Him. Dominic.) After Gabriella was born, she'd bite on his hand or fingers or the corner of a pillow to stifle the vocalizations that came so naturally to her.

The other thing Patty was, was generous. As long as Dominic was a gentleman – as long as her pleasure was his priority, and he made sure she orgasmed first (second, third) – Patty reciprocated with a fiery gratitude and a devilish delight in his loss of control. She read books on how to have good sex and she learned fast, and pretty soon he was feeling like the luckiest guy on the planet. Sex with a super smart woman was fantastic... but it freaked him out sometimes. The look of concentration on her face while she sucked him, slowly and sensually... His heart clutched when he remembered he'd lost that. When she finished him off, fast and furious, hand and mouth on his cock, her other hand tugging his balls, he half-feared she sucked pieces of his soul out with his semen.

He'd never much cared for cunnilingus – before Patty. But Patty wasn't embarrassed, wasn't ashamed. She was uninhibited. Showed him her hidden self, showed him how she touched herself. Let him watch. Let him help. With the lights on, even – not just candles. It was so arousing, in the early years of their marriage, he'd sometimes almost trembled. What the hell did he know? Penthouse centerfolds. Not the best way to learn female anatomy.

In a strange way, her happy, relaxed sexuality and utter lack of shame (which was not the same as shamelessness; no, he was the shameless one) went full circle through sin and hedonism and came back around to innocent. With Patty, he was in the Garden of Eden before the apple and the tree of knowledge, when everything was still good and natural and right, the body and its sensuality a loving gift from a generous God.

They'd been so young. Dominic supposed he'd been... malleable. And Patty had never made him feel bad for anything he did to her or with her. On the contrary, she encouraged him. The first time Dominic made her come (moaning and biting a pillow) with his mouth and hand alone, he felt like a god. Strutted out of their crappy little apartment and spent the rest of his day with a shit-eating grin on his face. Nothing could wipe it off. When he came home that evening, there she was, glass of wine in her hand, that look in her eye. He threw off his coat and started unbuckling his belt by the front door. She put down the wine. When he got to her on the Chesterfield, he fell to his knees and pushed her skirt up. She let him. Thrust her knees back and opened her up so he could do it again, better this time.

He sure as hell hadn't imagined, when they were dating, that one day he'd get to fuck her ...the other way. But that, too – Patty's idea. Her willingness to try almost anything was erotically emboldening.

One day, before Gabriella was born, he felt lusty, pressed up against her from behind as he spooned her. But Patty was on the rag. “Try the other one,” she suggested coyly. He flushed to his hairline, stuttered and stammered. Then she proceeded to coolly tell him what they needed to do it right, to make sure it wasn't painful, but was pleasurable for both of them (lubricant, lots – go slow – let her set the pace of penetration).

Doing it that way was so hot, and so tight. She came like gangbusters in a totally different way. It was so fucking intimate Dominic could hardly stand it. He got to do this with his smart, sexy wife, who he loved so much it ached. He got to do it repeatedly. For specific reasons (that time of the month), or for no reason (it was Tuesday).

He wondered if he would have better handled Patty's occupation of his body and soul, if he'd been older and more experienced when they met. Pointless to speculate. But with Patty, it was hard not to. She'd had such a long term... influence on him.

Like when she'd told him her knowledge of anatomy – male anatomy – could lead to mind-blowing experiences for him. He could hardly bear to think of it, now – it came to mind when he was really drunk, really shitfaced – but they'd tried that, too.

One night, after enthusiastic and very mutually gratifying sex, she explained his own internal anatomy to him and why what she was proposing was supposed to feel good, really good, to him. Like, male multiple orgasms good. But Dominic pictured strap-ons. Low rent boys who took it up the ass. None of which Patty had mentioned. But still.

He flatly refused. She shrugged, raised an eyebrow, lay her head back on his chest, and let it slide.

Weeks later, while she sucked him expertly and excruciatingly, while he was at her mercy, she stroked him repeatedly behind his balls. He wanted to – meant to – sit up and tell her to cut it out, stop touching him back there, stick to the amazing head, which was plenty good, and all he really wanted.

Sure, that was what his mind said to do. His body said different.

His body whispered to spread his legs a little farther, lifted his knees a tad higher, let her in closer, give her full access. He felt like such a whore, sure she'd interpret it as – well – him being such a whore for her. But the pleasure of her hands and mouth overwhelmed him. She sucked him, and stroked him behind his balls, and kept on doing it. Kept driving him nuts, kept him so close to the edge, wanting/not wanting to come just yet, it was just so good, so good, so good.

When his thighs quivered and he literally ached to come, she kept up her mercilessly pleasurable sucking, then pressed her fingers into that tender flesh behind his balls – hard, really hard, like a slow, deep, poke. It flipped a switch in him. He came so hard, so fast, and so long, he almost lost consciousness. Thought he'd never stop coming. He lay there, afterward, covered in sweat, stunned, recovering, heaving like a racehorse. He said nothing. She said nothing. But she had that privately pleased, slightly smug smile on her face.

The next time, it took all his focus to keep his voice normal when he said, low and rough, “Get my bag.” She looked up at him mischievously, smiled, and said nothing. She went and got his bag. He took out a pair of gloves. Despite his efforts not to, his hands trembled as he handed them to her. She took them, opened the bedside drawer for the lubricant they always used on her, and resumed sucking him. She wisely remained silent.

He was never sure at exactly which point she put the gloves on or opened the lubricant, because she was damned good at driving him nuts and keeping him there, hard, aching, leaking – and she did so that night. But just when he thought he couldn't take a second more of her mouth and hands, the suction, the friction – then he felt her back there, cool lubricant, a touch, a few strokes, and then gentle, shallow probing. It went like before, but better (worse?). He'd erupted, came so hard, so long, spasms so strong and pleasure so excruciatingly good, that he found himself babbling her name, over and over.

That was the point at which he realized Patty owned him like a slave. He'd thought having anal sex with her was the pinnacle of intimacy before, a combination of tender concern, deep trust, and ferociously erotic. That she let him do that to her was agonizingly intimate and he appreciated every second, every moment. But with her fingers in him while her mouth was on him, it was beyond intimate. The tenderness, the deep trust and eroticism were there, but the staggering vulnerability, and his total inability to deny her this, meant he had nowhere to hide.

From that point forward, he had never asked for it. But he also had never refused her when she wanted to do it to him. And (admit it) he had his ways of letting her know he wanted it. (Stand next to her when she sat reading. Look down at her, wait for her to put down her book. Pull her head gently to rest her cheek on his hip. Stroke her hair – don't look at her – undo his belt with his left hand.) But he would never, ever ask for it.

It wasn't just hiding his jealousy that motivated his professional behavior with Patty since their divorce. It was that tiny, inextinguishable hope that maybe, just maybe, if he wasn't a completely bitter jackass, Patty might forgive him and come back.

Until then – until he had his mouth on her again, his hands on her, fingers in her, himself in her, again; until he had her on top of him, grinding, eyes closed, again; until she was in him, again – he reminisced alone, reviewing his great mental library of “Dominic and Patty together,” often with a bottle in one hand, his cock in the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Gratitude to [lamentables](http://lamentables.dreamwidth.org) for the original beta back in '09.


End file.
